


Come Sail Away

by Littlewinns



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Lots of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 17:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15539010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlewinns/pseuds/Littlewinns
Summary: Winn's on the Legion Ship, headed towards 31st Century Earth.But it brings back old memories - and more recent ones - and he's not at all happy about either.





	Come Sail Away

Cynthia Lesner had been nice.

Okay, she hadn't been nice; but Winn didn't like speak ill of the dead.

Cynthia had been a resolute woman, already in her seventies when Winn had met her; and, as an emergency guardian, had been the lynchpin of Child Services operation in National City for decades. If a kid needed placing RIGHT NOW, they went to Cynthia - maybe for a few days, maybe for a month - until a more permanent 'situation' could be found. If you were a toddler, you'd be fostered in days. If you were a little older, or were more damaged, or both... it could be a while.

Winn had stayed with Cynthia for three weeks, once it was clear that his mom's absence wasn't a temporary excursion. For Winn, it was two weeks too many.

For years afterward, it had seemed like every foster kid Winn came across had met Cynthia at some point. There had been dozens of her former charges at her funeral, and even more had sent messages.

Everyone respected her, it seemed. But no-one had actually _liked_ her.

She had a lot of rules, and her food was terrible, and she was rarely someone you would consider a source of comfort; but - and this was wisdom you only developed through years of experience - she was the only person in the system that _never fucking LIED_ to you.

She may not have been nice, but she was honest. She wouldn't tell you that you were family, because you weren't. She wouldn't tell you that the two of you were going to get along, because you weren't going to. And she certainly wouldn't tell you it was all going to be okay; because, if you were meeting Cynthia, chances were _nothing_ was going to be okay ever again.

"Your room's up here," she said, leading him up the stairs, illuminating the stairwell by lighting up her fifth Parliament of the hour, "It's not much, but you won't be staying long."

Winn hauled his bag up behind her; the bag he'd hurriedly packed at home just a few hours before. The bag that now contained his entire life. The rest of his things would come with him to his new situation, they'd told him.

They always called it a 'situation'.

Cynthia led him into the room. It was small, with a single bed in the corner; and bare, save for a crucifix on the wall, and some shelves. One of the shelves held three triangular wooden cases with glass fronts, holding folded US flags. They were thick with dust, except for where curious fingers had explored the dust layer. It was strange, since they were the only things in the room that wasn't spotlessly clean.

This room had seen a lot of occupants, but this wasn't a room where people lived. This was a room where people stayed.

"You'll get your privacy. I had three boys, I know what you get up to when you're alone," she said, confusing young Winslow, who wouldn't be getting up to those things until a few weeks after his fourteenth birthday, "If you get hungry, you should have eaten your dinner."

Dinner had been a stew of cabbage and ground beef, which Cynthia had correctly told him that he wouldn't like; held in a bowl of made of Yorkshire Pudding, which she had correctly told him that he _would_ like - although he was still disappointed that it was a fluffy, savoury, toasted pancake dough kind of thing, and not actually dessert.

"Breakfast is at 8 o'clock sharp," she said, leaving him in the room, "See you in the mornin'."

Winn was still looking at the bed when he heard the door shut behind him; and, alone in the silence, he realised fully, for the first time, that his life was never going to be the same again.

\---------------

"Bathroom's down there, Galley is- you pretty much know your way around already, don't you?" Mon-El said, his heavy cape sliding against the suitcase he was carrying down the corridor.

"Okay, so I _may_ have visited you guys here a few more times than I needed to; and the bathroom I remember from conducting a failed Guardian mission there, so- does it count as a failed mission if your guy on the ground decides not to do it and then lies about it?" Winn asked, derailing his own train of thought while weighed down with his satchel and a backpack.

They were throught the disruption, and were now in the 31st century, somewhere near the Sirius system. The auto-pilot was now in charge of the long trip back to Earth.

This was it. This was the future.

"That depends. Did it all work out in the end?" Winn heard Imra ask from behind them, in her weirdly-tinged, not-quite-British accent.

"Certainly did for James," Winn replied.

"Yeah," Mon-El said, with an urgency that suggested he needed a change of subject, as he came to a stop at a nearby door, "Okay, this is Querl's room."

He pressed the door control, and the door opened - with a pitch-perfect Star Trek _whssh_ , which Winn enjoyed - revealing the cabin within. 

It was small, with a bunk in the corner; and bare, with the same Apple-moves-into-home furnishings-market look of the rest of the Legion ship. A little sterile, maybe; but not uninviting, and pretty much all you could hope for in a starship cabin.

It was also spotlessly clean.

"Guess Brainy decided to clean up before he left," Winn said, following Mon-El inside.

"No, it's pretty much always like this," Imra said, waiting outside, the shoulder pads of her suit bending slightly as she leaned against the doorframe.

"Not a 'stuff' person, then," Winn said, a little deflated. He'd left Brainy a gift; the least he could have done was reciprocate. 

"Not really," Mon-El said, "But, you know, he doesn't need a lot when he's here anyway. This is just his room when on board ship. It isn't home."

"Oh," Winn said. This wasn't a room where someone lived. This was a room where someone stayed.

"Anyway," Mon-El continued, making his way out of the door, "We'll let you get settled in, we'll get changed, and we'll see you in the Galley in about... twenty minutes, yeah?"

Really, Mon-El? Just 20 minutes? "You know, no need to rush on my account, sure you've got a lot of catching up to do, so... you know, you two just... take as much time as you need," Winn said, trying to avoid blurting out to Mon-El that he and Imra hadn't seen each other in weeks; and if he was here, it probably meant he'd gotten Kara out of his system, so the very least he could do was give his wife a full hour.

It was clear from both of their faces that they'd gotten the message, and Mon-El had the decency to look embarrassed. 

"It's okay, Winn," Imra said, thoroughly unembarrassed, "Mon-El aren't together like that anymore."

"Oh. Okay," Winn said, looking back at his friend; who didn't look embarrassed anymore, as much as pained.

He hadn't gotten Kara out of his system. What the hell was he still doing here?

"Twenty minutes?" Mon-El asked, solemnly.

"Uh, yeah," Winn said, not sure where to look, finally settling on the bed, "See you then."

Out of the corner of his eye, Winn saw Imra give a little wave as she followed her not-husband, and he was still looking at the bed when he heard the door shut behind him.

And, just like that, the last twenty years disappeared, and he was eleven years old again.

Winn looked around the empty room he'd been given. It was only temporary, sure. Once they were back on Earth, he was sure Mon-El and Imra would help him figure out a new...

A new...

The word made him want to throw up.

... _situation_.

Alone in the silence, Winn dumped his bags - that now contained his whole life - down on the bed, much as he had done that first night twenty years before. And, as he had done twenty years before, he sat down on the floor, his back against the bed, curled his arms tightly around his knee; and realised, fully, that his life was never going to be the same again.

And then, as he had done twenty years before... he cried.

And cried.

And cried some more.

Not beautiful, single-tear-trailing-down-the-cheek Luthor crying. An ugly, spluttery monsoon of sobs; the kind that made his whole body shake and made snot come out of his nose.

He'd made a huge mistake. He didn't belong here. He wanted to go home.

But there was no going home. He was needed here. He was supposed to be a hero here. And even if he _could_ abandon his new post, there was no guarantee there would be a disruption to take him home. Even if they turned the ship around right now, they could return weeks, or months, or even years after the time they left. And then... it wouldn't be home anymore. They'd have learned to live without him. 

Or... they wouldn't.

He cried harder.

When did he ever want to be a hero? He never wanted to be a hero. He justed wanted Kara and Alex and James to NOT DIE. How hard was that to understand? They were his family, and he didn't want them to die; but, since they _insisted_ on trying to get killed every damn week, someone had to save them from themselves. How did that end up meaning he had to go do the same for the ENTIRE FUTURE? Why couldn't he just be appreciated in his own time, like a normal person? 

Why did his entire life have to be so _fucking STUPID_?

"Winn?" Imra said, from the other side of the closed door.

Winn lifted his head up from his knees, and realised his face was crusty with dried tears. He hadn't even noticed he'd stopped crying. At some point, he'd just... stopped, and sat in miserable silence instead.

"Winn, are you okay?" Imra's muffled voice asked again.

"Uh, yeah, just... gimme a second," he said, trying to wipe the flaky gunk from his face, and joked, "I guess twenty minutes goes faster in space, huh?"

"It's been nearly two hours, Winn," Mon-El said, concern in his voice.

Winn stopped wiping. Two hours? He'd been sat on this floor, wallowing in self-pity, for nearly two hours? 

He wanted to pretend everything was fine, he really did. But it wouldn't be any use. They both already knew womething was wrong, and the shame he felt from them knowing was about to set him off again. He felt like a little kid that doesn't want to go on the ride anymore, even though they'd been in line for over an hour.

"Okay," he said.

"Okay, what?" Mon-El replied.

Winn swallowed hard, his throat feeling like it had a rock stuck in it. "You have to let yourselves in, I'm not sure how the doors work yet," he croaked.

The door slid open, and there were the leaders of the Legion of Superheroes, dressed in utilities, looking in on him.

"How're you doin', buddy?" Mon-El asked, managing to be jovial and serious at the same time.

There was a long pause, broken when Winn said, "I think I may have overestimated my preparedness level for this mission."

Imra came in; sat down on the bed, just to his left, on the side nearest the door.

"Tell us what's wrong. We want to help," she said.

"He's wondering if he made a mistake," Mon-El said, confidently, as he sat down on the floor beside Winn, on the opposite side from Imra.

"I'm not supposed to be here," Winn said, controlling his breathing as his eyes watered again, "I wanna go home."

"I know," Mon-El said, "It's... hard. But the future needs you, Winn. Focus on that."

"He's right," Imra added, placing a comforting hand on Winn's shoulder, "Brainy wouldn't have pick you if he didn't believe in you. _We_ believe in you. You can do this."

"Well, _of course I can do this_ ," Winn snarled, "I've been doing stuff like this since before Mon-El landed on Earth. Amazing stuff. Last week, I delivered a Manhattan-project worthy personal defence project in about a day and a half, _by myself_. I deliver. It's what I do."

Mon-El spoke to her over Winn's head, "Hope for the best; have Winn Schott plan for the worst," and Imra released a slight laugh, as though recognising a phrase she'd heard dozens of times before.

"Then tell us what's wrong-" Imra began, before Winn cut her off.

" _No-one else was ever gonna get asked_ ," he said, twisting around to face her for the first time since she'd sat down. Once their eyes met, he saw a stab of fear there, and he realised just how angry he must be for he to have reacted like that.

He turned away from her again in shame.

"No-one else ever gets asked. Not for something like this," he said, quietly. "No-one would ever have asked _James_ to give up his entire life, and everything he's ever known and loved to go save a whole bunch of people that the basic facts of the _human lifespan_ would put outside of his responsibility. It would be too much to ask. Hell, the only thing Kara ever asked him to do was maybe inconvienince his love life _one time_ , and he decided to sell her and me and Clark and Lois all down the river instead so he could still get laid."

"But no-one worries about that with me. 'Winn can do it,' they think. He won't mind. He won't break. If there's an incredibly-pain-in-the-ass, maybe-impossible task for which there will be absolutely no recognition or glory, Winslow Schott is your guy."

Winn blurted out a laugh, but there was no mirth in it. The last time he'd felt this much despair, he was on stage at a toy convention, about to be shot down by Federal agents.

"'Winn,'" he carried on, in a sing-song voice, "'Do you wanna come to a fancy party and humiliate yourself in front of the hostess to get me out of a jam?' Sure, Kara, happy to help. 'Winn, can you build me a suit of armour so I can exercise my deathwish in my dead dad's memory without having to actually get killed?' Whatever you say, James; and hey, let me work an extra twenty hours a week for free while I'm at it. 'Winn, the finest mind of your generation has caused an alien invasion by letting her mommy issues take the wheel; so can you maybe go help her build a lead dispersal bomb that will _definitely_ murder your friend while the source of those mommy issues snarks at you from the corner-"

"That's enough," Mon-El said, firmly.

Winn stopped. He'd gone too far, he knew. He'd never spoken about that last one before, to anyone. If he'd had just said no, none of them would be here now. Lena would never had gotten the device completed on her own, not to that deadline. Kara would have found another way, a better way, and Mon-El would never have had to go to the future. 

Everything would have different if Winn had just said, "No."

But he didn't. And now he was here.

This was all his fault.

"I'm sorry," Winn said, fumbling for Mon-El's hand to provide some kind of solace, "I didn't mean to- I'm sorry. It's just too much."

"No. No, it's okay," he replied, and as Winn looked over, he could see that it wasn't. Mon-el was barely holding it together. Winn suddenly remembered that Mon-El had gone through all of this himself, not all that long ago, not even for the first time, and did it without the friends at his side that Winn had now. 

Despite that, Mon-el encouraged him, "Carry on."

Winn paused. He hated himself for how selfish he was being, and he didn't know if he wanted to continue. _This isn't what heroes should do_ , he thought. Much better to just bottle it up inside, and hope it would fix itself, just like he'd always done.

Imra climbed down from the bed, and joined both the men on the floor.

"We're here for you, Winn," she said, "Take your time."

Winn thought about it. He thought about it for a long time.

"I want to sit with Kara on her couch, and eat discounted coffee-shop donuts like we used to, back when it was just us," and then another pause, as he watched Mon-El nod out of the corner of his eye the moment he'd mentioned that couch.

"I wanna be able to make fun of James when I think his new-found fame is going to his head. I wanna have a really long conversation with Lena about robots or something while James is there so I can watch his face do that sulky thing it does when he's not the centre of attention. I want to have the really long conversation Lena about robots because we both know a lot about robots and it'll be fun. I wanna find out what happens when she finds the fairway and actually succeeds at something that isn't kinda weird and disturbing.

"Lena's gonna change the world, you know?" he said, perking up as he did so, almost to the point of optimism, turning to both of his companinons in earnest, "Probably for the better. Well, I'm almost certain she's not going to make it explode. But, you know, don't quote me or anything."

"Well, it's the 31st century, the Earth's still there, so there's a decent chance you're right," Mon-El jumped in, sharing Winn's false-upbeat tone.

"See? I like that about the future. There's this whole comfort zone," Winn continued, before letting his mood fall again.

"I want to go get a beer with J'onn, like normal people do with their dads. I want to run into Maggie in a supermarket, and catch up, and hear her travel stories, and maybe meet her new girlfriend. I want bring a girl to the Danvers' Thanksgiving and have Eliza and Kara and Alex actually be excited to meet her."

It had been a few minutes since he'd cried, but the thought of Alex made him well up again. This was going to be the hardest one, he knew. But he didn't know why.

"I want to work for Alex Danvers. I think she'd be a _terrible_ boss, but I wanna work for her. I want her to yell, and to make unreasonable demands, and to smack me around the head when I've done something stupid," he said, as he started to shake again.

"I want to meet her new girlfriend. I want her to embarrass me in front of _my_ new girlfirend. I want-" 

Winn stopped. Now he knew. This was the big one. He was surprised he hadn't seen it before. Wasn't it obvious?

"I want to meet her kids," he said, breaking. Those kids. Somewhere- some _time_ , not all long after the time they'd left behind, really - some kid was gonna get lucky enough to get Alex Danvers as a mother.

A kid from the system.

A kid like _him_.

That kid was gonna be the luckiest damn kid on Earth, and they didn't even know it yet.

"And now I think I'm never gonna get the chance."

Winn sank his head back down onto his knees, and wept. It wasn't as bad as before, when he'd been alone. THere was joy, mixed in with the sadness. He had something to hold onto now. 

Alex was going to give someone a home.

Not a situation. A _home_.

And if _that_ kid could find a home... maybe Winn could find one here. 

Admittedly, it had taken nearly fifteen years to find the first one, but he'd had more practice now.

"I'm so sorry, Winn," he heard Imra say; and then, more quietly, "Maybe we should take him home?"

"No," Winn said, his voice muffled by his own limbs. He raised his head, and said, "No. I'll be fine. I think I can do this." He sighed, heavily; then drew breath for his best 'I'm not okay yet, but I'm working on it' voice, turned to Saturn's finest, and said, "Whole new world, right?"

"More than one," she replied, as Mon-El took his turn to sigh heavily. They both looked at him, suspiciously.

He had the grace to look guilty when he saw their faces. "Sorry, just... a lot of bad memories of that song," he admitted.

Winn managed a grin, at last. "Yeah, I heard that story," he said; adding, for Imra's benefit, "It's a funny story; I'll tell you later."

"I've heard it," she said, pointedly, "And not from Mon-El."

"Really? He came back, huh?" Winn asked, curiously, "I bet that was fun, reuniting with old friends?"

"So much fun," Mon-El deadpanned back, "And you're right. You _can_ do this. It'll be hard. Some people are not gonna like the idea that you've replaced Querl. But we'll all help you when you need it. Me, Imra, the rest of the Legion... We'll all try our hardest make sure there's a place for you here."

"And if, once this 'Brainiac' business is done, and I still don't feel like I belong... we can go home?" Winn asked.

"Yeah. We can go home," Mon-El answered, and Winn took particular notice of the 'we' in that sentence. _Damn right you're coming with me, dumbass;_ Winn thought, _If Kara's still single when we get back, I'm marrying your asses. I got a certificate from the internet, and I'm not afraid to use it._

"And if it makes you feel better, I can always smack you around the head when you've done something stupid," Imra added.

"That's more of a context thing; but I appreciate the offer," he replied, with a caring smile.

"Until then," Mon-El said, theatrically putting his arm around Winn's shoulder, "We'll show you around the 31st century. You know, I'll take you out, just two old friends, maybe run a couple of field tests-"

Winn narrowed his eyes at Mon-El. He wasn't doing this, was he?

"-living out our dreams-"

He _was_.

"-not getting into- Hey!" he exclaimed, as Winn burst out laughing, "I wasn't finished!"

"We are not doing that again!" Winn said, giggling.

"Another story?" Imra asked with a quizzical eyebrow.

"This one's much funnier," Mon-El explained, "And why can't we?"

"Well, firstly, you don't have beer in the future!" Winn said.

"That is a drawback, sure. But there's always Zakkarian-"

"NO!" Winn and Imra said, in unison, and then Winn laughed again.

"You stopped crying, at least," Mon-El said, happy to see his friend in good cheer again.

"Ah, there'll be more where that came from," Winn said, matter-of-factly, repeating Cynthia's words to him from that first breakfast together two decades previously. She'd been right about that too.

"What happened there, anyway?" Winn asked, "Did hops die out? Barley? Why's there no beer?"

"We probably just lost the knowledge of how to make it," Imra said.

"Well, I guess that's one way I can make myself useful," Winn said.

"You know how to make beer?" she asked, pleasantly surprised.

"I think so. It's just chemistry, right?" he replied.

"And pool's just geometry with sticks?" Mon-El interjected.

"I was technically correct about that," Winn countered, shifting on the floor. "Okay, my butt's gone numb, and I'm hungry. Did you guys eat?"

"We did. But we'll sit with you," Imra said, getting to her feet, and holding out her hand to lift Winn up.

"So, is it like, dehydrated space food, or-?" Winn asked, as he took Imra's hand, and achingly got to his feet.

"You'll find out in a minute," Mon-El said, patting Winn on the back as he led the way.

"That sounds ominous," Winn said.

"Ignore him," Irma said, in the wearied, pointed tone wives use regarding their husbands; before brightening up, keeping Winn company as his stiff legs carried him toward the door, "Don't worry. We'll show you around. I seem to recall you doing the same for me not too long ago."

"I... do what I can," Winn said, not wanting to tell her their conversation had mostly been a distraction to let Kara and Mon-El talk, "I remember that we had beer then, too."

"You really think you can make beer?" she asked.

"Can't be that hard. Besides, I deliver. That's what I do," he said.

"You'll be a real hero," she said.

Winn sighed. This was not where he expected his life to end up.

"Don't remind me."

**Author's Note:**

> Title is, of course, taken from the Styx song.


End file.
